I Vant To Suck
by danang1970
Summary: Murdock has decided he's a vampire. Crackfic, mild slash.


In retrospect, it had been a bad idea to let Murdock watch _Twilight_ for a number of reasons.

Unfortunately, to a group of men fairly inured to the ebb and flow of the pilot's fair-weather sanity, the severity of the problem wasn't immediately apparent.

When Murdock emerged from his room albino white, literally dripping in sunscreen, the only comment made was Face remarking that the smell of coconuts was an improvement. No one batted an eye at the towel he fashioned around his shoulders as a cape, and when Murdock screamed and hurled all the garlic into the trash, it was assumed that the cloves had insulted him in some way. Business as usual, really.

The team had no reason to be on edge. They had five rare days of downtime between jobs and were staying in a sprawling near-mansion Face had scammed in true style (that is, he smiled charmingly, lied through his teeth and let a hint of nipple show as he leaned forward at the real estate office). Hannibal was getting acquainted with the impressive library and smoking den, BA was spending an unhealthy (if you asked the others) amount of time working on his van, and Face was being neighbourly to the attractive co-eds from the nearby townhouse. So Murdock was wearing a towel-cape and cooking less Italian food. It was hardly worth noticing.

Still, Face found it a little unnerving when he looked up from the morning paper and found Murdock perched on a chair in the lounge, hands on his knees, staring at Face like a vulture with haunted, hollowed eyes. He looked terrible: Pale and haggard, dark circles around his eyes, sharp angles to his cheeks... Face frowned and walked over.

"Are you wearing makeup?" he asked the pilot. It wasn't worth putting the effort in to try to sound surprised.

Murdock sighed moodily and looked away. "You wouldn't understand," he said in a decidedly melodramatic tone. "The pain on the inside will never truly be mirrored on the outside. Flesh has limits that the mind and soul do not."

"You know that's women's makeup, right? It's glittering."

"It mocks me with a shine my world has long since lost."

"Is this because you listened to The Cure last week? Hey, no matter what BA says, your hair is way better than Robert Smith's."

"Leave us!" Before Face could ask who "us" was, Murdock put his head down and swept his arm around with a flourish, wrapping himself in his cape. It was blue and had dancing cartoon ducks on it. He looked like a fuzzy, lumpy Easter egg.

"Okay, buddy." Face patted the towel over his friend's head as he left. "You want a coffee or something?"

"The darkness in my soul cannot be soothed with percolator juice!" was the muffled reply.

"You sure?"

"... My soul would not say no to a blueberry muffin."

"No problem."

So yes, in terms of Murdock fixations this was on the low end of the scale. That's not to say that it didn't get a little annoying.

"Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee!"

Crash. Bang. Shatter. Sadly, no obligatory "startled cat running away" noise.

"Dammit, fool!"

"Aiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Hannibal decided he'd better deal with this sooner rather than later, before it became a whole big thing and someone tried to resolve it by baking laxative cookies (again) or locking someone else in the tool shed (again). This is why they needed Hannibal: For plans, diplomacy and sorting out squabbles before the hair-pulling started (again – though Hannibal had to admit that Face left himself open for that one, what with all the preening and special shampoos and suspiciously feminine-smelling oils. Never expose weakness like that. Sloppy.).

"Right," Hannibal said loudly as he entered the garage, cutting off the "crazy fool!"s and high-pitched shrieking. "What's going on here?"

For once, BA got in before Murdock. "Fool was hanging upside down in the rafters," he said, scowling and pointing to the high, stable-style ceiling. "Fell on his stupid head because he's a damn fool and landed on my workbench."

The bench – really a table – was now a sad mockery of its former self, collapsed on the floor with broken legs, tools scattered for several feet in every direction. Murdock made a small "Eeee" sound, which Hannibal took for acknowledgement of the facts.

He looked the Captain up and down. "You alright, son?"

Murdock nodded. He had a small scrape over one eyebrow, his towel cape was torn and he would probably be bruised tomorrow, but everything seemed to be intact. "I was hibernating," he explained. "We have no need for the hours of treacherous sunlight."

Well. Mostly intact.

"You ain't a damn bat, fool," snapped BA. Hannibal nodded: That would explain the high-pitched noises the pilot was continuing to make under his breath.

"Not NOW," replied Murdock, rolling his (shadowed... sparkling?) eyes. "My slumber has been disturbed and once again, I take the form of man. Eeeee."

"Well," said Hannibal, wishing for the fiftieth time that week that he'd followed his mother's advise and become a dental hygienist, "Why don't you slumber in your room, Murdock? The curtains should be thick enough to keep out all the sunlight."

"_Treacherous_ sunlight!"

Sure. "Treacherous sunlight, yes."

With a long, wary look at BA and Hannibal, Murdock shielded himself with his cape, skittering into the house and slamming the door behind him. In addition to the frantic squeaks, Hannibal swore he was hissing.

That night, Face, BA and Hannibal had an unexpected visitor. And no, that (thankfully) isn't a menstruation metaphor.

BA was the first. A shadowy figure, cloaked in shadow (and a fresh towel) crept silently through the shadows towards the Baracan one's door. Moving with supernatural stealth, the figure approached with nary a sound, save for the creaking of the floorboards and a muffled curse when he stubbed his toe on the skirting board. Reaching out a pale, claw-like hand, the mysterious creature grasped the door handle, turning it slowly and stepping forward...

...Right into the door. Ow.

"Ow!"

From within the room, a deep chuckle echoed.

"Heh heh heh heh!"

"Aw, Bosco. Why'd you lock your door? Come on, open up."

BA's voice came through the walls loud and clear. "I always lock my door, fool! Sick of waking up with you staring at me with your stupid fool eyes, or trying to come into my bed and cuddle like some damn dog..."

"I don't _stare_," Murdock retorted, offended. "I watch over you while you sleep, like a guardian angel-slash-Santa Clause. And sometimes I get cold at night!"

"Get more blankets then and stay outta my bed!"

"Maybe I will!"

"Good!"

"Fine!"

With that, the stealthy figure huffed and stomped down the hall to the next door, until he remembered how stealthy he was and modified his tread to a light tiptoe.

This door was ajar. On the bed, Hannibal was nestled into the pillows reading a worn World War One fiction he'd found in the library. He vaguely heard the sounds of shouting and stomping, but assumed that it was just Murdock trying to spoon BA again and ignored it.

The creak of his own door caught more of his attention. Peering over the reading glasses that he most certainly didn't need because his eyesight was perfect and he was still a young man, dammit, Hannibal frowned. His door had been pushed open a further few inches, but no one was in sight. He waited a few beats. Nothing. Back to his book then.

_Shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle.._.

Hannibal sighed and took off his reading glasses, putting them safely in their case and out of harm's way. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. "Murdock."

_Shuffle shuffle shuf._ There was a very loud silence as the movement stopped abruptly. Hannibal waited.

It took less than fifteen seconds for Murdock to slowly raise his head and peer at Hannibal from his position crouched near the foot of the bed. He rested his chin on the duvet and regarded his Colonel warily.

Trying not to think of what kind of benefits dental hygienists receive, Hannibal asked, "Can I help you, Captain?"

Murdock snarled slightly and flinched, like a dog smelling something foul. "There is no Murdock here," he hissed. "I am the Count."

Maybe it wasn't just _Twilight_. Maybe they'd have to ban _Sesame Street _too. Shame; Hannibal would miss Elmo's World. "Alright," he conceded. "Count. Is there something you wanted?"

Rising slowly, a predatory gleam in his eyes, Murdock crawled up the bed – up _Hannibal_ – until he was spread out over the older man. Batting the book away, he braced his hands on either side of Hannibal's head and gave a cold smile. Well. This was new.

"I need to feed," The Count murmured, leaning down and smelling, _smelling!,_ Hannibal's neck. The Colonel brought his hands up but wasn't able to muster anything more than a loose grip on the pilot's waist as Murdock nibbled a path from his ear to collarbone.

Hannibal shivered. This was probably something he should stop. "Murdock..." A bit breathy, definitely not as commanding as he would have liked, but it was a fair effort, given the circumstances.

Murdock ignored him, teeth raking over the sensitive skin of Hannibal's throat. "Feeeed," he murmured in a low voice before nipping the other man's earlobe lightly.

Well, he tried. No one could say Hannibal hadn't tried.

With a growl, Murdock ripped Hannibal's hands from his waist and pinned them against the pillows. His mouth attacked Hannibal's neck, biting and sucking and nibbling in ways that were just the right side of painful. The older man moaned softly as Murdock writhed against him, snarling and holding him down in a display of dominance Hannibal had never seen from the pilot before. His hips twitched as Murdock pressed into him through the covers. Murdock's breath was hot on his Colonel's neck, teeth merciless as he nearly broke the skin with an open-mouthed bite that had Hannibal crying out. Licking and kissing the throat in apology, Murdock made a rumbling noise deep in his chest.

Suddenly, the weight lifted from Hannibal as Murdock slid off the bed. Dazed, Hannibal watched as he veritably bounced towards the door.

"Thanks for that, bossman," he said chirpily, as though completely unaffected by the bulge in his jeans. From this angle, Hannibal could see the evidence of his own arousal tenting the covers. Murdock's lips were swollen, his hair askew. "I'm gonna go get a snack from Facey now. G'night!"

It was a full minute after he closed the door that Hannibal stopped gaping and plunged his hand under the sheets.

The next morning, BA definitely DID NOT ask why everyone had hickies. And he definitely didn't feel left out. Damn fools.


End file.
